Love-fest Drabbles
by eidheann
Summary: Collection of drabbles/ficlets for people because they've been lovely and supportive of me during this past year learning to write this stuff. No connections between chapters, ratings vary, currently quite full of silly. Will be updated as it's updated. Rated M for implication/content/potential continued future content.
1. Chapter 1

Written as part of my personal glomp fest for omi_ohmy (omi-omi) and oakstone730, one for linking the article that put the thought in my head (hehehe cauldron bottoms) and the other for thinking my idea was a good one (lord pity you)

**Title:** For The Department of Wizarding Standards  
**Author:** eidheann (eidheann_writes)  
**Summary:** It's time for the Decennial Survey of All British Wizarding Standards. Heroes included.  
**Word Count:** ~350  
**Rating:** P for painful. er, I mean, PG-ish for implication? Totally not smutty.  
**Warnings:** A fluffy, silly, dialogue-fic filled with Draco!logic. Oh, and it's unbeta'd.  
**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. They belong to someone else. This is for fun not profit, etc.

"Er, yes?"  
"Good morning, Potter."  
"_Malfoy_? What are you-"  
"I'm here on behalf of the Undersecretary to the Secretary to the Department of Wizarding Standards."  
"What? You work for Percy?"  
"He _is_ the Undersecretary to the Secretary to the Department of Wizarding Standards, yes. Do keep up."  
"Alright..."  
"It's time for the Decennial Survey of All British Wizarding Standards."  
"The what?"  
"The _Decennial Survey of All British Wizarding Standards_. I don't remember you being quite this slow in school."  
"Malfoy!"  
"What?"  
"It's six in the fucking morning. Why are you ringing my bell at six in the morning?"  
"I _told_ you, I'm here on behalf of the Undersec-"  
"Yes I got that part. Why are you _here_?"  
"I need to do a survey."  
"A survey on what?"  
"Heroes."  
"What?!"  
"Heroes, Potter. Hmm... I should be taking notes on this. Apparently heroes are unable to do more than repeat what they are told until after... well, sometime after six-fifteen, at least."  
"Give me that!"  
"Hey! That's my quill! Well. That wasn't very nice."

* * *

"WHAT?!"  
"I'm here on behalf-"  
"You said that thirty minutes ago when you rang the first time."  
"Yes, well, I had reason to believe you would need it repeated again."  
"Malfoy... Why are you back?"  
"I need to do a survey."  
"But you _left_."  
"I needed a new quill. You stole my last one."  
"You're not going to go away, are you?"  
"I told you, I need to do a survey."  
"Oh heroes, yes you said. What does that even mean?"  
"Do you really want to do this out here?"  
"I'm not going to ask you into my house!"  
"Surprising, but if you insist..."  
"Oh my god! What are you doing?"  
"I am trying to take a... hold still!"  
"Get that measuring tape away from me!"  
"We need standardized standards, Potter! How else do you think we get them?"  
"Of my _arse_?!"  
"Of course! The last time we got data was ten years ago. You were practically pre-pubescent."  
"Oh god, come in, come in."  
"Thank you."  
"Why do you need to measure my arse?"  
"We need measurements to use to create the British Wizarding Hero Standard."  
"But why my arse?"  
"I need your cock, too."


	2. Chapter 2

For capitu with all my love for being the most patient and amazing cheerleader/pre-reader around

**Title:** Oh Merlin  
**Author:** eidheann (eidheann_writes)  
**Summary:** Firewhisky. He remembers that much.  
**Word Count:** ~850  
**Rating:** NC17  
**Warnings:** unbeta'd. Fail!porn. hungover!Draco!logic. Also silly (not sure why these are all going silly, I'm much better with angst)  
**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. They belong to someone else. This is for fun not profit, etc.

When Draco opened his eyes, the darkness was a surprise and he fought to keep the panic at bay. His head was pounding, though the feeling was more reminiscent of a hangover than of any injury. He was lying on his back, and the feeling of upholstered cushioning against his arm told him he was likely on a couch.

Or in the corner of a _very_ padded room. Which made no sense, so a couch it was.

Then he realized he was naked.

He assumed it took him that long to come to that due to the strangeness of the situation. Not because being naked in strange places was at all usual. Because it wasn't. He liked to keep his nakedness to comfortable and familiar places. So, hungover, naked, flat on his back and on a couch. And in the dark, which he was beginning to suspect was due more to _Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder_ than any lack of sun.

Pushing himself up into a seated position, because he figured there was a bit more propriety in naked-and-sitting-on-a-couch than in naked-and-lying-on-a-couch, he groaned as his head seemed to consider detaching from the rest of his body and his stomach started doing it's own waltz without him. He took a moment to breathe, digging his toes into the plush carpeting, and attempted to remember how he got to... wherever he was.

Firewhisky. He remembered that much. The party at the Leaky to celebrate Robards' retirement turning into some strange competition where the Auror Corps each tried to outdrink themselves. Though why the Auror Corps thought that getting themselves all too shit-faced to see straight, he still wasn't up on. Though it _had_ seemed a much better idea at the time. He had been sitting at a table drinking with... With...

Damn his stupid low alcohol tolerance.

His train of thought was effectively derailed by the feeling of a warm, dry hand around his cock. It took his hungover brain a moment to realize that both _his_ hands were gripping the couch cushions and he let out a very manly protest, which sounded nothing at all like an "eep!" as the hand slowly began to wank him.

"What are you doing?" He was pleased that his voice came out in the proper register that time. The hand stopped, and how could a hand on his prick so explicitly point out what a stupid question that was?

He sighed, granting the point to the hand which resumed its slow rub, and _Merlin_ even if his head pounded and his stomach was threatening rebellion, his cock was standing up and taking notice.

"Traitor." And he deserved the chuckle coming out of the darkness, talking to his prick like that, but "My head hurts and I think I'm about to vomit. I'm hardly at my best."

He heard a sigh, and was disappointed when the hand that had been teasing him vanishes. A moment later, he feels the nudge of cool glass against his arm, and takes the familiar wax-capped vial. "Oh Merlin, I think I love you." He cracked the cap and downed the hangover potion in a single go, trying to ignore the overwhelming taste of peppermint and eucalyptus that burned the back of his tongue and attacked his sinuses as he swallowed.

He was distracted by large, hot hands gripping his hips and dragging his arse closer to the edge of the couch, and he wiggled at the feeling of a face nuzzling his bollocks. The pounding in his head faded, and the rolling nausea was quickly overwhelmed by the tingle of anticipation as the general sensation of touch disappeared, only to be replaced by sudden wet suction as a mouth descended on his mostly-hard cock.

Formerly mostly-hard. "Fuck!" The warm tongue laving the underside of his cock nearly did him in right there, and he squeaked when the hot wetness slid up, sucking harder.

And laughed at him, the bastard. He smacked the top of the head, only to lose the heat entirely when the mouth pulled off and one of the hands pinched his thigh. "Hey!" He sat up, rubbing the spot and frowning sharply into the darkness. _Cursed darkness, ruining his best glares and_ "Oh Merlin." The mouth was back, suckling hard on the head and tongue flicking over the slit and "Oh Merlin," he _knew_ what that did to him the fucking tease, and _"Oh Merlin,"_ the hands were off his hips, squeezing his bollocks, and "Fuck!"

He collapsed back on the couch, too content after his orgasm to feel anything but happily boneless. He felt a shoulder jostle against his knee before a weight settled on the seat beside him.

"You're always so easy when you're drunk. I told you that you wouldn't last five minutes." Potter's voice was unbearably smug. Riding high on afterglow, he couldn't be arsed to respond to it.

"Ow! You've got sharp elbows!"

Well, maybe a little arsed.


End file.
